


Blood on my sword

by MsMxyzptlk



Category: Jahar Tsarnaev
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bloody Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMxyzptlk/pseuds/MsMxyzptlk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I almost hesitate to post this – this is a dark story, and some sections are pitch-black. I aimed to be extremely careful with the sensitive subjects explored within. The events that are horrible are written that way, and not for prurient purposes.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Blood on my sword

**Author's Note:**

> I almost hesitate to post this – this is a dark story, and some sections are pitch-black. I aimed to be extremely careful with the sensitive subjects explored within. The events that are horrible are written that way, and not for prurient purposes.

It was a Saturday morning, on the late side. 

What better time to hook up with my friends Paul and Lilly at the local indie coffeehouse? 

Paul and Lilly were friends more special than most. We had something in common – something that we could talk about in depth with no other people. 

We all cared about Jahar –but for different reasons. 

Paul thought that he and his brother Tamerlan were unequivocally guilty of planting the bombs at the Boston Marathon, and that Jahar deserved the death penalty – after a fair trial. He wasn’t the type to write comments like “let’s fry Joker’s nuts in bacon grease” at the Boston Herald website. 

Lilly thought that Jahar and Tamerlan didn’t do it, because there was no visual evidence (that was made public) of them planting the bombs. She wasn’t the type to babble about Craft International or “crisis actors” or any other batshit theory. 

I thought that Jahar and Tamerlan did plant the bombs. The U.S. government had its flaws, as all governments did, but no way would it create a 74-page indictment out of thin air. Or smear this horrible crime on two immigrants just minding their own business. 

But...would Jahar have participated without the influence of Tamerlan? Nearly everyone who claimed to know him said that he was mellow, gentle, kind, and helpful. How could a young man like this kill...unless he was under duress? 

Here was another secret I shared only with Paul and Lilly: I wrote fiction about Jahar and posted it online under a pseudonym. Most of these pieces were love stories – for let’s face it, Jahar looked just like a romantic hero.

After writing and posting my last story, an exquisite tale of a romantic evening called “The way I feel tonight,” another idea rolled into the station. It had some romantic parts, but boy-girl love was not the main point. 

It was a story about pain. Shame. Secrets that could push a young man to deadly acts. 

Less than ten minutes after I put up “The way I feel tonight,” I started writing the new story. For the next week, I gave up going to the gym, watching Netflix movies, and posting on Facebook so I could write the story during my evenings and nights. 

Thousands of words later, I had a work I was proud of. It was like nothing else I had written – I addressed subjects I had never dared touch before. I did my best to write with sensitivity and care; only the most debased pervert could get a thrill out of it... 

Did I dare post it? 

Just to be safe, I should read it to Paul and Lilly first. 

* * *

“Not Jahar again.” Paul shook his head. “Really, Kim, you should find yourself a new boyfriend. Someone you can, you know, actually date.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s someone I can’t help writing about.” I handed photocopies of the new story to him and Lilly. “This one is called ‘Blood on my sword.’” 

“Oooh. Sounds scary,” said Lilly. 

“It is.” 

“Does Jahar get...hurt?” 

“Yes. Very much so.” 

Lilly shook her head. “I don’t know if I want to read this.” 

“But he does not die. And there’s hope and healing at the end. “

“Two things the _real_ Jahar won’t get.” 

“We shall see, Paul. Now let’s start reading.” 

* * *

BLOOD ON MY SWORD

I straddled Jahar, admiring how the tentative light of dawn glowing though the bare window turned his skin an almost-alien blue. Still, I could see the sheen of sweat on his skin, on both our skins. 

He was panting. I was panting. Our hearts beat hard under our chests...yet our bodies hummed with energy. 

“Hot damn.” Jahar smiled, showing off his lovely teeth. “You should get on top more often, baby.” 

“But you still did most of the work.” 

“Yeah, but I can see much more of you this way.” His hand slid up my waist to cup one of my breasts, his thumb stroking the nipple. 

This way. That way. Any way we made love, it always turned out right. 

_What did I do in my life to deserve him? I should spend time on my knees every day, thanking the universe._

“You don’t know how beautiful you are, my love.” His gentle, slightly accented voice stroked my ears. “So soft. So giving...so open. You let me pour myself into you, and you take it all.” 

“That’s because you are so scrumptious, my yummy Jahar.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead, running my hands through his silky bush of dark brown hair. 

He grasped my hands and rolled us over until we lay side-by-side. 

“It’s funny. Usually when I’m awake at this time of day, I’m pissed. Probably because the alarm went off and I have to go to some godawful thing, like some shit job. I don’t look out the window and see how beautiful the dawn is.” He laughed. “It helps that you’re here sharing it with me.” 

“I get you on the waking up early thing. I don’t often wake up happy before seven a.m. ‘Course, it may have something to do with my alarm music, too.” 

I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. I went to the alarm section and played the tone for Jahar. It was the fight music from the original _Star Trek_ episode, “Amok Time.” 

“Shit, that’s some angry music. No matter you don’t like waking up early. I think your alarm oughta sound like this.” He placed his lips on my ear. “Wake up, baby...” he purred. “Wake up. Jahar’s here, and he’s got a little something something for your cute self...” 

While he created his seductive wake-up call, he rubbed his hips against mine. 

“Hmmm...will that new alarm come with that something something I feel right now?” 

“When phones can send 3D messages, I guess. But now...” He rolled over onto me. “How much time you got, baby?” 

“I don’t have to be in class until nine.” 

“I have a class at eight. If we don’t shower, that gives us...another hour?” 

“Let’s use that whole hour.” I opened my legs wide and arched my back. “I want to walk into that class smelling like you.” 

“You’ll make all the girls jealous, now.” 

“I don’t fucking care.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Now put that big boy in me and ride, Mr. Jahar.” 

Jahar gave me a mock salute. 

“Aye, Captain.” 

Like a good sailor, he obeyed his orders....and the mission got accomplished. All the way. 

* * *

As he usually did on a Saturday morning, Jahar drove up to Cambridge to visit his older brother, Tamerlan. He would spend Saturday night there and return on Sunday, usually at six p.m. 

Many girls would resent not having their guys around on Saturday night, but I didn’t. I understood how important family was to Jahar, and the weekends were the only time he could get up there when school was in session. Besides, we had a hell of a lot more fun on our Sunday nights than most people had on their Saturday ones. (It helped that we tried not to have classes on Monday morning that started before ten a.m.) 

I found things to do on Saturday nights – hang out with my other friends, watch a movie on television, or simply curl up in bed and read a book. Sometimes, a sexy book. Then I’d turn off the light and think of Jahar...and my hand would slide down and do its best to substitute for his tongue and penis...poor hand, it did its best, but it could not match the real deal. 

Before he got home, I had a few rituals. I’d go to Trader Joe’s and buy him a bouquet of flowers. (Ladies, try it – he will appreciate it.) I’d buy some of his favorite candy (usually Kit Kat bars or Reese’s cups). I’d make sure the bed looked nice, and me as well (shower, shave, style). Sometimes when he got home, he’d appreciate my gifts before we went out to eat. (And sometimes we stayed in to eat, if you know what I mean.) 

This Sunday night, after I performed the rituals, I waited for the click of the key in the door. What I got instead was this text. Not from Jahar, but from his Cambridge friend Bundy. 

_hey jahar and tam decided to go fishing in salem he’ll be back later in the week_

What the hell? 

Why would Jahar make such an impromptu change of plans? And why didn’t he let me know himself? 

I called Bundy to talk to him directly. No answer. 

Dammit... 

_Bundy, what’s up? Why did Jahar go fishing with Tamerlan without calling me directly? I have no problem with it, but it looks weird_

_dunno. bros will be bros?_

_Well, keep me posted_

* * *

“Gone fishing?” My friend Patricia shook her head. On this Sunday night, she was my dinner companion. “Guys in their teens and twenties don’t fish. Not in America. They just get their fish from McDonald’s.” 

“Jahar and Tamerlan aren’t ‘typical’ Americans. They still have some old school in them. Maybe they like working for their dinner.” 

“Bullshit. You may not see it, but Jahar is a lazy-ass. Why does he sell weed instead of getting a real job?” 

“Selling weed _is_ a real job, Patty. He always says, ‘dealin’ ain’t easy.’ I believe him.” 

“Really?” Patricia’s eyebrows arched until they looked like the McDonald’s logo. “You know what comes from believing every word a man says? A broken heart...and a burning hoochie.” 

“Jahar isn’t like most men. He’s not like any man, in fact.” I proudly defended Jahar. 

But later that night, all by myself, my mind started running wild. 

_He wouldn’t._

_No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t!_

_You let me pour myself into you, and you take it all._

_Oh, Jahar. I will take your all – you don’t need anyone else!_

I threw myself down on the bed and reached for one of the pillows. This pillow, I could hold and kiss and rub against tonight. 

But it couldn’t do anything back. It couldn’t hold me in arms of muscle wrapped in silky skin. It couldn’t kiss me, nibble on my lower lip, run its tongue across my teeth. It didn’t have fingers ready, willing, and able to explore all of my secret caverns. It couldn’t feel the rush of blood that stiffened erectile tissues, couldn’t push open the gate of my labia, couldn’t pitch and plunge in and out of me until I didn’t know where I was, couldn’t let go and release its seed into me – the one proof of sheer _want_ that could never be faked. 

_You have no proof of wrongdoing._

_Patricia had not one, but two guys cheat on her. Of course she’s going to see cheating everywhere. She doesn’t know Jahar like you do._

_Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to chill until Jahar gets back from his fishing trip. When he comes home, you’re just going to ask him how the trip went. You’ll put the ball in his court, and take it from there._

_Okay?_

_Okay._

* * *

Jahar didn’t come home until early Wednesday afternoon. I hadn’t done the Sunday night rituals because I didn’t know when he would be home...but I made up for it with a luscious welcome-home kiss. 

Or so I thought. He didn’t respond by kissing back; he only murmured “thanks” and walked straight to the bedroom. I followed. 

He had his duffel bag on the bed, unzipping it and taking clothes out. 

“How was your fishing trip?” I asked. 

Jahar lowered his head and continued unpacking. 

“Fine.” The word shot out of his mouth. 

“Did you catch anything?” 

“No. If I did, I would’ve brought something.” 

“Well, better luck next time. I hope you guys had fun, at least.” 

Jahar threw the empty duffel bag into the closet so hard it made a slapping sound when it hit the wall. 

“Jahar!” I stepped toward him, but he gave me such a furious look that it stopped me cold. I had never seen that face before – eyebrows scrunched together, cheeks flushed, mouth scowling. I had never seen him this angry. 

_But why?_

He scooped up his dirty clothes and stormed past me to the hamper. He dropped them inside haphazardly and went into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open. 

“Goddammit, is there any fucking beer in this place?” 

He slammed the door shut and said something unintelligible...but not nice. He came out of the kitchen and yanked open the front door. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Rodney’s. I know he has beer. I’m going to get good and drunk this afternoon.” 

“But, Jahar – “

 _“Don’t ‘but’ me!”_ He all but screamed it. “I don’t need your chickenshit concern right now. I’m a man, and I’m gonna get shitfaced like a man. Got a problem with that?” 

I did, but how could I say so now? 

* * *

The sky had turned black before I heard the knock on the door. 

Rodney was there, holding up a red-eyed, mumbling Jahar. 

“Here’s your Jahar back.” Rodney marched him into the bedroom and let him fall clumsily to the bed. “Motherfucker drank a 12-pack of PBR all by himself. He owes me eight dollars.” 

I reached into my purse and gave him a ten-dollar bill. 

“Keep the change. Thank you for bringing him home, Rodney."

“No probs, but keep an eye on him. I’ve never seen him drink that much so fast before.” 

When Rodney left, I took a good look at Jahar. His eyes were closed, but he still mumbled words I didn’t understand. I also saw a dark yellowish tint in the skin around his eyes. 

All I could do now was make him as comfortable as possible. I took off his shoes and socks, and lifted his legs to the bed. I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down his legs. They smelled of spilled beer and urine. 

As a precaution, I took his underpants off too, and then undressed him on top. His white T-shirt was splattered with pale, crusty orange drops. 

These needed to go into the hamper, too. I carried his dirty clothes to the hamper, and saw a pair of his underpants on the floor. It had come out of his duffel bag. 

I picked it up, and it felt heavier than usual. Something was clinging to the inside. I turned the underpants inside out. 

_Whoops. Looks like Jahar had a little accident._

My first impulse was to find a tissue to remove the bit of semi-dried waste...but then I looked closer. 

I saw a streak of red inside the brown. 

_How could he be bleeding down there? That is never a good sign._

I checked out the underwear I’d just taken off of him. This pair was navy blue, so a stain would be harder to see...but I did find a dark red streak. 

I placed both pairs of underwear back into the hamper and returned to the bedroom. Jahar had rolled over on his side and curled up in the fetal position. He was shivering, so I pulled the sheet over his naked body. Then, I got the flashlight from the nightstand and looked under the sheet. I turned on the light and pointed it at his buttocks. 

When I looked closely, I saw that his anal area looked darker than usual. I brought the flashlight closer, and used my fingers to spread his buttocks slightly. 

Jahar screamed. Not shouted, not yelped, not brayed – he screamed a scream that demanded I get my hand away from there. 

I leaped back and turned off the flashlight. His shaking intensified, and he curled up even tighter into himself. 

“No,” he murmured. “Please...stop.” 

“I’m sorry, Jahar, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Please!” His voice keened in agony. “Stop! Stop doing that to me!” 

He wasn’t talking to me. He started kicking and flailing his arms and legs, as if fighting off an intruder. 

“Why do you have to keep doing that? What’s wrong with you? Haven’t you taken enough already?” He grabbed a pillow and bit it, then threw it aside. “No! _Noooooo!_ NOOOOOO!!! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME! GET IT AWAY! STOP IT, TAMERLAN, STOP! _PLEASE!!!”_

Tamerlan? 

Jahar was now so wild with fear that I had to pull him back home. I went to the other side of the bed to face him. 

“Jahar?” 

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut...but not tight enough to stop tears. 

I knew now that the lie about the fishing trip wasn’t to cover up cheating...but an unspeakable horror. 

_Get that thing away from me!_

Tamerlan had used an unnamed “thing” to hurt Jahar.

But what?

* * *

“No. No. No.” Lilly shook her head. “I don’t like where this story is going.” 

“You’re not supposed to ‘like’ it. Bad news is coming ahead.” 

“I think I know what that ‘thing’ is.” 

“Keep it to yourself for now, Paul.” 

* * *

I reached out and delicately touched my fingers to his forearms. 

“Aaah!” Jahar reacted as if my fingers were afire. His eyelids leapt open as if he were a marionette out of control. 

“Jahar, it’s me. Only me.” 

His dark eyes stopped jerking back and forth, and focused on me. He gripped my hand so tight I feared he’d break my fingers. 

“Baby.” He slowly released me. “Baby, I’m here.” 

“Yes, you’re here.” 

“Here...not _there.”_

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. 

“Thank God.” 

He lowered his head...as if he were ashamed. 

“Jahar...I know there was no fishing trip.” 

“No, there wasn’t,” he whispered. 

“But it wasn’t because of what you did...it was because of what was done to you.” 

Jahar lifted his head and looked into my eyes searchingly. 

“What did I say?” 

“You said...’Get that thing away from me. Stop it, Tamerlan. Stop, please.’” 

Jahar looked as if the world was about to end. His mouth trembled and his lower lip stuck out. 

He let out a keening cry, the cry of a young child unable to express himself any other way...the cry of a young man subjected to a “thing” of unspeakable horror. 

All I could do for him was hold him in my arms. Rock him gently. And not pressure him. 

“It’s okay, Jahar. You don’t have to speak right now. This can wait until later.” 

He lifted his wet face from my chest, eyes shining in gratitude. 

“Thank you, baby,” he whispered. “I will tell you tomorrow. I promise.” 

* * *

The skin around Jahar’s eyes remained puffy and discolored as he sat next to me on the couch. We brought the conversation out here because he “didn’t want this talk to pollute our bed.” 

_If he thought it would “pollute our bed”...how awful was it?_

We each had a cup of instant espresso flavored with Torani hazelnut syrup. We were too anxious to eat a “normal” breakfast. Jahar held the white cup in his pale, long-fingered hands...where the nails were recently bitten to the pink. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home on time.” His voice came out misty; he kept his eyes on the coffee table. “But I couldn’t let you see me the...the way I was.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because Tamerlan gave me two black eyes.” 

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. Everything Jahar had told me about Tamerlan was infused with hero-worship. _He taught me everything I know about being a man. About standing back up when you get knocked down. About honor, and homeland, and heroism. He is my main man, baby._

“I had to wait until the bruises faded...so I called Bundy and asked if I could hide out with him for a few days. Thank God, he could let me do that.” 

“But...why the fuck would Tamerlan do such a thing to you?” I was so upset now that tears formed in my eyes. 

“Because I fought back...for the first time.” 

_Against the “thing”?_

“For the first time in my life, I would refuse, yes refuse to let him – “

Jahar started shaking so violently that I grabbed him. 

“Let him...what?” 

The silence before the next words felt as wide as the Grand Canyon. 

“...rape me...” 

* * *

“No. Nononono.” Lilly put down her pages. “I can’t deal with this, Kim. I _can’t!”_

“But you read that trilogy with all that rough, dubiously consensual sex.” 

“Yes, but it wasn’t rape. And it wasn’t incest. And it wasn’t about real people who might read this online someday!” 

“Tamerlan’s dead, Lilly,” reminded Paul. “He’s not going to be reading anything six feet under. And Jahar doesn’t have internet access, not where he is now and not where he’s going, which is ADX Florence. Unless they execute him, of course.” 

Lilly had touched a nerve. I sometimes wondered how Jahar would feel if he ever had the opportunity to read my stories. He might get a kick out of the romantic-hero ones... but not a story about him getting raped by his own brother. 

“I’ll tell you what. If the case goes to trial, and if Jahar is found not guilty of all charges, I will pull my stories from the site. I’ll let readers know, so they can contact me for their own personal copies, but I won’t have them public anymore. Does that make you feel better, Lilly?” 

“Fifty-fifty. I’m glad you are taking Jahar into consideration here...but this storyline still makes my skin crawl.” 

“Mine, too. I hurt for the Jahar in these pages, and I want to protect him. I’m making sure that the rape/incest scenes are not too graphic, and not at all arousing...unless you are a TruTV-ready über-pervert.” 

* * *

“Rape you?” The very word made my ears burn. “ _Rape_ you?” 

Not “molestation.” Not “sexual assault.” 

That four-letter word, coming out of the mouth of a nineteen-year-old, had just one meaning...a meaning that had the power to reduce his speech to sobbing and howling again. 

I held on to him through this new emotional storm. Did it last five minutes? Ten minutes? Thirty? 

It didn’t matter. 

With a sniffle and a wipe of his face with his sleeve, Jahar slowly let me go and leaned back on the couch. 

“Okay.” He let out a long breath. “Here is the whole story.” 

* * *

JAHAR

In my culture, your big brother is not just a guy who’s older than you. He is the second head of the household, next to your father. If your big brother says to do something – you do it. 

But Tamerlan gave me reasons outside culture to look up to him. He was so clutch, baby. He could box like nothing else. I almost wanted to follow in his footsteps, but he set the bar so high that I got into wrestling instead. 

He was our family’s Superman. He kept watch over our sisters and me. I believed he could do no wrong. Literally. 

So when he gave me a poke on the shoulder one night and said, “Hey, Dzho, I wanna show you something,” how could I resist? 

It was late at night on a Saturday. Our parents were asleep, and so were our sisters. We’d finished watching SNL. I liked watching that show with Tamerlan – it made me feel so grown up. 

We went to the bedroom that we shared. Tamerlan opened the door. 

“Okay.” He reached into our common dresser and pulled out a jar of Vaseline. “Let’s take off all our clothes.” 

Now you may think that sounds kind of weird. But I was thinking he was going to teach me to jack off. Young guys have no problem jacking off together. Even brothers. And he was eighteen at the time. To a twelve-year-old, that’s a real man. 

I took my clothes off. He did, too. 

“Now get on your bed and lie down on your belly.” 

I did, even though I didn’t know how I could jack off this way. 

Suddenly, I felt a greasy hand slide down the crack of my ass. 

“Whatcha doin’, Tam?” 

“Keep your head down, Dzho. I wanna surprise you.” 

“Okay.” I put my head on the pillow. 

I heard the bed creak loudly. Tamerlan was kneeling above me now, his knees on either side of me. 

“Oh, you beautiful boy.” I felt his hand stroke me from the top of my neck to the start of my butt. “I’ve waited for this for so long...waited for you to be ready.” 

_Ready for what? And why is he talking to me in a slow, whispery voice...like he’d talk to a girl?_

Before I could think anymore, something hard poked me in the ass. 

It didn’t stop. It pressed down, down, harder...until it opened my ass and it hurt, goddammit, it HURT more than anything I’d ever felt in my life! 

I let out a scream, but Tamerlan put his hand over my mouth. 

“Shhh, shhh, my little man.” He pushed my thighs open with his free hand and pressed down on my ass until he could go no further. “This is happening, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

You know what happened next. Tamerlan fucked me. He fucked me in the ass, and it was _torture._ I’m not exaggerating. His dick was just too fucking big. The Vaseline didn’t do shit to make it better for me. It hurt so bad that I felt like throwing up. 

I whimpered and cried, but he just wouldn’t stop. He made all these weird noises that made it even more scary –grunting and snorting and growling like a starving pig chowing down on scraps. He got all sweaty, and started to stink. 

We didn’t talk about sex in our family. We had internet access, but I had never seen porn. I didn’t even know what porn was – and I sure as fuck didn’t know that guys stuck their cocks in the asses of other guys. 

Baby, I just didn’t _know!_

Then he started going so hard and fast, it felt like his dick had turned into a knife ripping me up inside. He cussed in Russian and smacked me on my head and back. 

And then, he just – stopped. 

He just lay on me. He was so heavy that I couldn’t breathe. 

Before I blacked out, he got off of me. His dick made a gross, wet sound as it came out. 

I kept my face down. I didn’t want to look at him, nor have him look at me. All I could think was, _Why, Tamerlan? Why did you do this to me?_

It was quiet in the room for a long time. I couldn’t stay still any longer, and I lifted my head. 

Tamerlan had his hand over his mouth. His face was red...as if he was embarrassed. 

As if he knew he’d done wrong. 

He noticed me looking at him. He dropped his hand and gave me a stern look. 

“Sit up, Dzho.” 

I did...very slowly, because my ass was sore as fuck. 

“Look at this.” 

He pointed to his dick. It was soft now, but still big, and it was moist with Vaseline and...fresh red blood. 

“I got blood on my sword.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes looked dead. “Yes, I did.” 

I put my feet on the floor. I didn’t even want to be in the same room with him, even if I had to run out naked. 

He grabbed me by the arm. 

“Now listen, Dzho, and listen good. You can’t let anyone know about this. We committed a sin. Boys aren’t supposed to touch boys this way. You share my shame now...you aroused me, and I acted on that. 

“If you tell our papa, he will hate you forever. If you tell our mama, it will break her heart. If you tell our sisters, they will be disgusted with you. If you tell anyone else – your friends, your teachers, the police – it will get back home, I guarantee it. This _has_ to stay between us. No one else. Understood?” 

“Understood.” I nodded my head. I felt ashamed already. 

* * *

“Hold it, hold it, hold it. I remember being a twelve-year-old boy. If anyone, even my own brother, started smearing Vaseline in my buttcrack, I’d be out of there faster than Usain Bolt. Who _doesn’t_ know what that means?” 

“The young Jahar in my story doesn’t. He wasn’t born in this country. And he worships his brother.” 

“I did, too, but I wouldn’t let him rape me!” 

“Kids don’t ‘let’ it happen. That’s what too many people have trouble with: the difference between rape and sex. Rape is such a boogeyman, for both men and women, that they will look for anything that shifts the burden to the victim. They don’t want to think that it can happen to them, too, no matter how ‘careful’ they are.” 

* * *

JAHAR

When I woke up the next morning, I still felt awful...like a witch had put a dark spell on me, and taken my childhood away forever. No matter how young you are, once someone rapes you, that’s the end of being a kid. 

All I could hope for now was that he wouldn’t do it again. 

But it was just the beginning. 

For weeks, Tamerlan would be the cool big brother I’d always known and looked up to...and then, out of left field, this _devil_ would come after me. 

I started to dread the night. I didn’t know when I’d be allowed to sleep peacefully...and when he’d come into my bed bringing the Vaseline and his hot breath. I learned to get nauseated at the smell of Vaseline. 

Sometimes, he’d make excuses. 

“This is part of warrior culture, Dzho. Don’t believe me? Read a book about the Spartans.” 

“I’ve got high testosterone. I need to fuck, not just jerk off, and I don’t have a girl.” 

But always, when he was done, he reminded me it was a sin and not to tell anyone else, ever. 

When I started puberty, I hoped it would discourage him because I wasn’t smooth like a boy anymore. It only got him interested in my front. 

I’ll never forget what he said when he saw my new body. “What a beautiful big cock you have now. It’s big enough for me to taste...” 

That was the worst thing Tamerlan did: making me feel good. I knew that ass-fucking hurt. When he put his mouth on my dick...baby, I liked it. No, I _loved_ it. I loved it...and I _hated_ myself for loving it. I hated that he could control how I felt. 

He’d take advantage, too. “You want this. Your mouth says ‘no,’ but your cock...oh, it tells the truth.” The first time I spilled, it was in his mouth...damn his soul to hell. 

If I couldn’t get him off me by growing up, I’d do it by getting gross. I’d do things like throw up in his face...which wasn’t hard in this situation. I’d also piss and/or shit once he took off my underwear. That didn’t stop him. He’d just rub my face in the mess and do what he was going to do anyway. 

Is it any wonder I felt despair? I felt lower than the tiniest insect. I believed his propaganda – something inside of me made him do these things, so it must be my fault. 

* * *

“Jahar...no, please, never blame yourself! You didn’t make Tamerlan do what he did. He was either a pervert...or mentally ill. Either way, he was too big and strong for you to defend against.” 

I cuddled him close, the way I wished I could do with that scared twelve-year-old boy. 

“I thought my life sucked at twelve...but the worst thing that happened to me was being named in a slam book. You went through a real nightmare...but you were strong enough to grow up to be the good man I love now. Don’t ever forget that.” 

Jahar stroked my hand, and continued with his story. 

* * *

JAHAR 

By the age of sixteen, I was so full of anger I didn’t know what to do with it. Being on the wrestling team helped a little. So did playing soccer and running. But I had tits and pussy on the brain like nothing else. 

I wanted to fuck a girl. Really, really wanted to fuck a girl. I thought if I could get on top of a girl and fuck her, I would become a man. Then, Tamerlan would have to respect me, and stop doing what he was doing. 

I had a plan. I wouldn’t go for the hottest chicks in school, girls who might turn me down. I chose a girl who was plain, but just cute enough to get hard for. A girl who would be so grateful for a guy’s attention that she would do anything for him. 

I’ll call her Dana. She had brown hair parted in the middle, she came up only to my shoulder, and she had nice, big boobs that she covered up with her books because guys kept staring at them. 

I started my campaign the smart way. I smiled at Dana at first, and of course she smiled back. When I spoke to her, I talked about classes and stuff like that and pretended I didn’t see her boobs at all. She fell for me like a pebble dropped from the John Hancock building. 

Patiently, I sat with her at lunchtime, then invited her for afterschool coffee and fast food. My goal was to ask her out on a Saturday night date, take her to dinner, and then drive her out to the Riv and nail her in the back seat. 

When the night came, everything went smooth...until I took Dana to the Riv. When I parked the car, she asked me what we were here for. The fact she was that naïve should have been a warning sign. But I was so into my plan that I didn’t pay attention. 

I started to kiss her...at first soft, but then harder and rougher. I slid my hands up her shirt. 

“Jahar...what are you doing?” she asked in a scared voice. 

“Kissing you. C’mon, don’t you like kissing?” 

“Yes, but...” 

“What’s there to ‘but’ about? I like you. You like me. People who like each other kiss. So...” 

Long story short, we ended up in the back seat, where I really started to get aggressive. I pulled off her shirt and unhooked her bra. Once again, Dana asked me what I was doing. 

“I’m showing how much I like you. How much do you like me?” 

“I’m...I’m crazy about you, Jahar.” 

That was just about an admission of love. I jumped right on it. 

“Then _show_ me how crazy you are about me, Dana. Let me have my way with you. Let me kiss you...touch you...feel you...everywhere...” 

That did it. Dana gave herself completely to me...and I treated her with all of the sensitivity I’d give a scrap of toilet paper. I went too fast and too hard and too deep for her first time. She whimpered in pain...but all I could see were her boobs bouncing as I thrust and all I could feel was her virgin tightness gripping my dick. 

And I didn’t use a condom, either. I wanted blood on my sword, just like Tamerlan got. 

When it was over, I felt real proud of myself. _I’m a fucking man now,_ I thought. I didn’t give much of a thought to Dana, except making sure she was dressed and looking decent before I dropped her back home. I was already losing interest in her, but I said I’d see her in school on Monday. 

I burst through the front door, strutting like a cock on the walk. Our parents were asleep, but Tamerlan was sitting at the computer, watching something on YouTube. 

“Hey, Tam.” 

He turned his head. I just gave him the biggest fuck-you grin ever, and then went to the bedroom. 

I took off all my clothes and checked out my dick. Yup – I saw a tiny bit of Dana’s blood on it. I was the man tonight. 

I crawled into bed and put my hands behind my head. Some time later, the door creaked open. 

“How was your date tonight, Dzho?” 

“Perfect.” 

“Whatcha do?” 

“Well...” 

I didn’t have to say it. It may have been one of the biggest mistakes of my life. 

“I got laid, man.” 

“Really?” 

“Yup. Got all up in her like a boss. Didn’t even wear a helmet.” I pointed to my chest. “I’m a man now. You better recognize.” 

Tamerlan grabbed my blanket and pulled it down. 

“Hmmm. If you got laid, how come you’re still hard?” 

“I dunno. Maybe I’m still excited thinking about it.” 

I tried to pull the blanket back up, but he ripped it out of my hands. 

“Or maybe you’re excited thinking about _me._ ” 

He got down on his knees beside the bed and bent down. Before I knew it, he had my cock in his mouth. 

I tried to push myself away from him, but he pinned me down with a hand on my mouth. 

“Be quiet. You want to wake up Mama and Papa?” 

That was the last thing I wanted. So I let him do it. I let him suck away my triumph, including the blood on my sword. Before, it smelled like girl down there. Now, it smelled like Tamerlan and his foul pollution. 

“C’mon, Dzho, give me your come. Give it to me. Give it to me, my pretty little bitch...” 

And I did. Like fucking always, I did. 

When I let go into his mouth, I didn’t feel like a man anymore. I felt like a pretty little bitch. 

Tamerlan got into bed with me. 

“You think you can get a girl and forget about me, Dzho? You can’t.” He shoved his finger into my ass. “You didn’t lose your virginity tonight. _I_ took your virginity four years ago. Don’t even think about forgetting that. Ever. _Ever!” ___

He took me ten times harder than I did Dana. He didn’t even bother with Vaseline this time. He tore my ass up...and when he was done, he pulled out and shoved his dick in my face.

“See? _Your_ blood on _my_ sword. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the way it always will be. I’m the man. You’re the boy.” He smacked me with his dick. “Little fuck.” 

In the morning, I went outside and crawled under the stairwell to our apartment. I had my pocket knife with me... I cut my wrists. I didn’t know that I should have cut vertically and not horizontally...the cuts hurt, but didn’t bleed much at all. 

I was a failure as a man...I couldn’t even kill myself right. 

No surprise, I couldn’t even look Dana in the eye when I got back to school on Monday. The poor girl...she probably felt it was her fault I didn’t want anything to do with her now. All I could do was listen to her cry as she walked away. She transferred out of school for our senior year...I wish I could tell her the truth. I wish I could let her know that it was me who was the fuck-up. Tamerlan had used me...and then I turned around and used her. I hope she knows now what a good girl she is. 

* * *

“I hope so, too.” I held on close to Jahar. What he needed from me was listening without judgment. If I had been hearing Dana’s side of the story alone, without having met Jahar, I would have deemed him a cad. At this moment, the young man in my arms needed unconditional love and support while the agonizing words fell from his mouth. 

* * *

JAHAR

Then, Tamerlan got married to a girl who was carrying his baby. And the raping stopped. Just stopped cold, as if it was just a nightmare. He acted as if he’d done nothing wrong at all, that we’d had a normal relationship all along. 

I was so grateful it was over that I promised myself I wouldn’t bring it up to anyone. Why rock the boat? Why break up the family over this? When his little girl was born, I knew I had to shut up for life. How could I risk her knowing what her father had done? I just looked straight ahead, focused on my studies, graduated from high school and moved on to college. 

I can’t tell you how glad I was that I could live near campus. It was like a reboot of my life. Meeting new people who didn’t know me back then...building an identity of my own...looking across the classroom in Statistics and discovering the sweetest face ever...promising to learn from my mistakes with Dana so I wouldn’t lose you. 

I felt that I had everything now. A promising future, a collection of buddies, a brother who acted right, a girl who loved me...then I went back home last Saturday and got knocked all the way back... 

It started when Tamerlan opened the door. 

“Heyyy, little bro.” He gave me a fist dap. “What’s happening?” 

What was happening in the apartment was quiet. Tamerlan was all alone this weekend. 

“Good time for you to be here. Wife and kid visiting the in-laws...” 

I walked through the door. The place was quiet, but it was even more messy than usual. Papers and empty food boxes and plastic bags on the furniture and the floor. On his own, Tamerlan sure could wreck shit. 

“It’s going to be a bromantic weekend!” 

That made me think of stuff that I shouldn’t. 

_It’s in the past,_ I kept telling myself. _That was then...this is now._

Tamerlan took some old newspapers off the couch so I could sit down. 

“Want a drink?” 

I knew he had only soda, water, and juice, but I said sure and took a Coke. 

“So...” he said as we both sat down on the couch, “how’s my college Dzho?” 

“Aight.” I told him a lot about my classes, not so much about my grades and the parties. Then, he asked me this: 

“What about girls?” 

I thought about you, and grinned like the _Mad_ magazine guy. 

“I don’t have girls in my life...I have a girl.”

“Really? Tell me more.” 

I told him everything I’d tell anyone else about you, from the funny way you laugh to you giving me flowers every Sunday when I got home. Tamerlan nodded his head, like he was digging it, and then he asked: 

“Have you had sex yet?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How often do you do it?” 

That question felt weird, so I hedged it. 

“Often enough to make me feel lucky.” 

Tamerlan leaned forward and asked more questions, each one getting more personal. 

“Do you wear rubbers, or do you come inside her?” 

“Does she give you blowjobs?” 

“Does she stick her fingers up your ass?” 

I got really pissed, and told him to cut it out. 

Tamerlan tried to put his hand on my crotch. I jumped back as if his hand was burning. 

“What the fuck – Tamerlan, what’s wrong with you, man?” I was starting to feel sick already. 

_Not this shit,_ I thought. _I am so done with this shit!_

“You’re getting hard, aren’t you, Dzho?” 

“Stop it.” 

“Remembering all those good times we had?” 

“They weren’t good for me, you...you brotherfucker.” 

I got off the couch. 

“If you don’t start acting right, I’m outta here. You will not do those things to me. Ever. Again.” 

Tamerlan stood up. 

“Oh, really?” 

“I’m not twelve years old anymore. I can tear your shit up.” 

He laughed. 

“No, really. Do it. Try to touch my dick one more time and see – “

He grabbed my dick through my jeans and squeezed. 

I socked him right in the jaw. His head jerked back, and he let me go. 

Man, that felt so good. 

For a few seconds. 

Then, I saw the whole galaxy flash before my eyes. I landed hard on my ass. 

_Whoa, fuck! I forgot – he was Golden Gloves!_

I grabbed the edge of the coffee table and tried to push myself up. 

Wham! Saw the galaxy again. 

I was still conscious, but barely. I felt weak and dizzy. I couldn’t open my eyes anymore – he gave me two shiners. 

I felt him pick me up off the floor and carry me to the bedroom. All I could think was, _It’s happening again. It’s happening, and I’m as fucking helpless as I was when I was twelve._

I felt him drop me on the bed and start taking off my clothes. I tried to fight – really, I did! – but the fucker was just too strong, and those two blows to the head messed me up, too. 

I felt his hands and mouth on my dick. “Does your girl suck you off like this, Dzho? Does she?” I saw your face in my mind, and I got hard. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. 

I smelled the fucking Vaseline, because he opened the jar and shoved it in my face before he rubbed it on my ass. 

I felt his dick shove into my ass. He put his hand on my mouth, the hand with the Vaseline on it, so no one could hear me scream. 

One more time. 

It lasted long as fuck. He must have been taking Viagra or some shit like that. And he kept on talking, saying I’d never get away from him. “When I am one hundred, and you are ninety-three, I’ll still be fucking your pretty pussy, brother. Count on it.” 

He had one hand on my dick, too. Working it good. “C’mon, Dzho, squirt for me. Let me know how much you like it.” 

I thought about shit floating in the toilet. Cats squashed by tires. Cockroaches running all over the kitchen floor. Dudes puking at a party. 

“Think about your girl. Think about her soft skin...her hair brushing against your face...her cushy tits...her hot, wet cunt. Think about how hard you’d squirt for her.” 

Tamerlan put you in my head again, and I couldn’t think about gross stuff anymore. I thought about the last time we made love, in the light of dawn, fucking up into you as I watched you rise and fall, touching yourself, moaning, begging for my cock. 

Damn his fucking hide, I did as he wanted. I came with his hand...and at the same time he came into me, too. 

“Ohhh, yes. Yesss. That’s my good boy...” 

The next thing I remember was walking down the stairs. I couldn’t see because of my swollen eyes. My whole body hurt like fuck. I got to the bottom of the stairs and fell down hard on my ass – needless to say, I started bawling. 

I reached into my pocket for my phone. It took all of my strength to keep my eyes open long enough to find Bundy’s number. I called him and begged me to pick me up. 

The fishing story was Bundy’s idea. I didn’t know if you’d go for it. To tell you the truth, it sounded kind of lame. Dudes our age going fishing? If I want fish, I get it at McDonald’s. 

Better a lame story than a horrible truth... 

* * *

“Jahar...” 

I felt as if a claw had ripped my guts out and had shoved them back in upside down. 

My lover had been raped – practically tortured – by his own brother for years. Evil wasn’t just a concept in philosophy books; it crept on the surface on the earth and called itself Tamerlan. 

“My God...you have to call the police. You have to put this motherfucker’s ass in jail!” 

He looked at me helplessly. 

“If you can’t, I’ll do it for you.” 

I reached for my phone, but Jahar grabbed my wrist so tightly that I feared he’d break it. 

“NO!” he screamed. “Don’t do that! _Please!”_

“But, Jahar...” His face melted behind my tears. “He can’t get away with it...” 

“If you call the cops, the rest of my family will know. I can’t have that.” 

Now, I understood. Tamerlan had taken Jahar’s autonomy with the rapes. I almost did the same by calling the police against his will. 

The best thing I could do for him was to let him have control. 

“Okay. No police. I promise, Jahar.” 

He slowly let go of my wrist. 

“Did I hurt you, baby?” 

“No...” It was a little white lie, but he did not need guilt right now. 

“Thank God.” 

I looked down at my coffee cup and saw that the cup was still almost full. I had only taken one sip, and that was before he started talking. 

Jahar had drank all of his...but it wasn’t enough to counteract his draining story. He spent most of the rest of the day curled up in bed. I stayed with him, holding his hand, feeding him, answering his calls and telling his friends that no, he was not down to party. 

Nowhere near it. 

He fell asleep early for him, and I did so, too. He did not cry out as he had last night...but he did weep softly into his pillow. 

As I wept softly into his back. 

* * *

I had promised not to call the police.

I did _not_ promise to do nothing. 

I went to the sporting goods store and bought an eighteen-inch serrated machete. The serration was to make it look more menacing. 

Why? 

To scare the piss out of Tamerlan. 

I didn’t plan for the blade to meet flesh. To tell the truth, I had never even touched a machete before. 

However, if a certain creep saw a long knife aimed right at his johnson, knowing that it would be cut off unless he stopped raping his brother... 

I hoped that would be enough. 

I got the directions to the apartment from Mapquest. The only person I told about my plan was Patricia, and even then I just said I was “researching” the fishing story. 

Jahar, of course, did not know. I went at a time when he thought I was in class. If all went well, I would be back home before he missed me. 

When I parked on the narrow street and got out of the car, I tied a scarf around my waist and tucked the machete behind me. From the front, I looked unarmed. 

I walked up the flight of stairs and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, it opened wide. 

“Who are you?” 

Tamerlan was tall, taller than Jahar, much taller than me. And he was wide, too. He was the biggest man I had ever seen up close – a human wall. 

_Oh. My. God._

_Remember – you have the weapon. Remember – who you are here for._

I gave him my name and told him I was Jahar’s girl. Tamerlan grinned. 

“He’s told me so much about you.” He tucked a thick, paper-filled binder under his arm. “I was wondering when he’d bring you to see me.” 

He invited me into the apartment, which was still as messy as Jahar had told me. It smelled of pizza and Coke and sweat and farts. His wife and child, evidently, were still away. 

He pushed some trash off the couch and put his binder down on the coffee table. It had a letter-size sheet in the front pocket, on which were printed these words in sixty-point Times New Roman bold: _The REAL Facts of Life._

“So...wanna hear some secrets about Dzho you oughta know?” He cackled. “I’m a poet and I don’t know it.” 

I did not sit down. I looked straight into his dark eyes. 

“I’m not going to make nice, Tamerlan. I know what you did to Jahar.” 

He lifted his shoulders in the universal “I don’t know” sign. 

“What?” 

_Stay calm._ “You raped him.” 

Tamerlan snorted. 

“Who told you that dirty fucking lie?” He pointed to his chest. “I never raped anyone in my life. I don’t have to. And I would never, _ever_ rape a boy – my own little brother! Tell me who said that, girl, and I will kick his ass into the middle of next week.” 

I stood still and silent. 

“Ah. I see. That’s what _he_ told you.” 

He laughed, as if we were performers in a high satire. 

“You think you know Dzho, girl. But I’ve known him for longer. Much longer. He told you I raped him? Well, the reverse is closer to the truth. He’s been crawling on top of me and trying to stick his cock in my ass since he was six.” 

My cheeks flushed at that bald-faced lie. 

“Oh yes, our Dzho is quite the little slut. He tried to fuck anything that moved – cats, dogs, his sisters, me...hell, even the crack of dawn wasn’t safe from his eager wiener. 

“When he found a circle of friends who were as horny as he was...they went to town on each other. If I had a nickel for every time I caught them in three-, four-, and even five-ways...I wouldn’t need Section 8.

“The older he got, the more he craved it. In high school, he fucked both girls and boys...and it wasn’t enough. He stole money from our mother’s purse to pay for hookers. Mostly guys. He was thirsty for the cock.” 

* * *

“Oh, God, this is awful.” Lilly shuddered. 

“It’s supposed to be. Rapists, especially inside the family, tend to blame the victim to deflect the spotlight off themselves.” 

“But Kim, you don’t really think that Tamerlan actually raped Jahar!” 

“I don’t know. I certainly hope not! The rape in this story, though, is meant to be a metaphor. It is possible, and likely, that the real-life Tamerlan forced some bad ideas into Jahar.” 

“Not with his dick, though.” 

“Thank you, Paul.” 

* * *

“If you think he can be faithful to you, think again. He is addicted to fucking, and he so much wants to hide it that he’d tell a vicious lie about his own brother.” He stared directly at my crotch. “You should go to the clinic and get yourself tested for all the sexual diseases. Dzho is guaranteed to have at least one.” 

The tears rolling down his cheeks. 

The horror choking him so hard he could barely speak. 

The anguished plea not to call the police. 

The blood in his underwear. 

“Vicious lie,” Tamerlan? 

I had seen the effects of vicious. 

_You will not do those things to him. Ever. Again._

I reached behind me and pulled the machete out of the scarf. Just like in the movies, it shone in the sunlight. 

Tamerlan didn’t notice – until the point of the blade rested on his chest. 

_Cutting off your dick would be too merciful, Tamerlan._

He gave me the look that a father would when his child did something unusually cute. 

“What have we here? Did poor little Dzho send his girl to tear shit up?” 

“No. He doesn’t know I’m here. He would not have let me go. But I couldn’t stop myself. I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t do _something.”_ I stepped forward. “It’s up to you, Tamerlan. You promise me that you’ll stop raping and hurting Jahar...or I will cut your heart out and feed it to the crows.” 

“I see. Tell me this, though: are you strong enough to break my breastbone with that? You have to break it to get to my heart.” 

I stiffened my back, trying to stay cool. Was I strong enough? 

I could go for the belly. 

But was I brave enough to make a fatal cut? 

Remember, I’d never killed anyone before. 

_So what? If Jahar needs you to do it, you would cut Tamerlan into fillets._

Yes. I would. 

“I’ll do what I have to.” 

Tamerlan laughed...and then pushed down my blade as if it were a light switch. 

“What a pussy. Needs a girl to fight his battles.” 

He stood up and stepped towards me. I moved back as if his skin was leaking acid.

“Perhaps you need a real man to take care of you.” 

I didn’t notice we were backing into the bedroom until it was too late. 

“I’ve got something that can take care of you...real good.” 

He reached for the drawstring of his pants. 

_No...HELL, no!_

I swung the blade of the machete. It got him on both forearms...barely, but enough to draw blood. 

“Ow!” Tamerlan jumped back and clutched his wounds. _“Bitch!”_

I saw a flash of light...then darkness. 

* * *

Still in darkness, I heard a voice. It sounded distant, but I could hear every word. 

“Ohhh, you have nice titties.” 

A mouth came down and sucked on my nipples...sucked hard enough to make them hurt. 

“Nice and soft...” 

The voice...too deep to be Jahar. 

_Not_ Jahar!

No! 

I tried to lift my arms to push this intruder away, but couldn’t. My head hurt so much. 

The hot mouth that violated my breasts moved over my belly and breathed on my crotch. I knew now I was naked. Naked in front of another man who wasn’t my lover. 

“I smell my brother all over your pussy. Oh, yes, he thinks you belong to him alone. Once I’m done here, you’re going to smell only like me. And Dzho’s going to know that I can take anything of his I want. Including his woman.” 

* * *

“Ahem.” Paul cleared his throat. “I think a certain Jahar girl has a secret wish for a little Tamerlan action, too.” 

“Nooooooooo.” I shook my head vigorously. “This is a non-con scene. Didn’t you read the ‘no’ part?” 

“I’ve read ‘My Secret Garden.’ In the fantasy world of women, ‘no’ sometimes means ‘go ahead and take me.’ If you don’t believe me, read it yourself.” 

“Thanks for your opinion, Paul. Now let’s find out what happens next.” 

* * *

I forced my eyelids to open as much as they could. 

I saw a man kneeling between my legs. A naked man. I kept my eyes on his face and avoided his crotch. I knew he was Tamerlan, but I couldn’t make out his features. My vision field was so narrow that I could barely see colors. 

He put his hands on the bed... 

...and another figure appeared behind him. 

I saw a gleam of light which crossed from right to left. 

Then, color at last. 

Red, lots of red, falling down the naked man’s chest. 

He fell off the bed, away from my view. 

The other figure stood tall, gripping the object which had given off light.

A cloud of dark hair around his head. No shirt. Fury knitting his thick eyebrows together. 

_Jahar._

“No more, my brother. No fucking more.” 

He fell down on his knees and raised the gleaming object high above his head. The machete. 

He brought it down fast and hard. A fountain of red splashed into his face and chest. Jahar stabbed again. Again. Again...until he was as bloody as Carrie at the prom. 

I knew I should not look at this. He would not want me to look at this. But I had to. 

Jahar brought the blade down again. He jerked it back and forth rapidly. 

_Is he doing what I think he’s doing?_

Some time ago, he had told me about a video he had seen on LiveLink, a video showing six Russian soldiers being executed by Chechen rebels – with knives cutting their throats. He only gave me the barest of descriptions, and made me promise never, ever to look at the video myself – “It’s not for girls to look at, especially sweet girls like you” – but he also said it was important for him to look. “Russians did terrible things to Chechens as well. Sometimes, you can’t help fighting brutality with brutality. It can be the only way to end a fight.” 

_Jahar is sawing Tamerlan’s head off._

Brutality ending brutality for good. 

A nineteen-year-old with two black eyes and blood in his underpants was avenged. 

So was a sixteen-year-old who wasn’t allowed to celebrate the loss of his virginity. 

And a twelve-year-old who didn’t know what was going to happen to him. 

Jahar stopped sawing and let the blade drop. It didn’t make a sound, probably because it landed in a thick pool of blood. 

He stood up, coated in his brother’s blood. The places where his skin was naked, his face and his chest and his arms, gleamed an angry red. He looked down, and wiped his face with his hand. The instinctive gesture did nothing to get him clean. 

He slowly turned his head towards me. Now I could open my eyes all the way. 

“Jahar...?” My voice came out brittle, as if filtered through a plastic bag. 

“Baby.” He quickly knelt by my side. 

My arms reached for him. He leaned down and embraced me. Blood dripped down from him, from his hair and his throat and his chest, falling onto my own naked skin. A dank, salty smell overwhelmed the air we breathed. But I didn’t care.

_My lover is alive, and his rapist is dead._

Jahar lifted me up from the bed. 

“I’m taking you away from here,” he whispered. 

He scooped me up into his arms, and stood to his full height. He had never carried me like this before, and I didn’t think he could (I was only ten to fifteen pounds lighter than him). Perhaps it was a rush of testosterone which gave him the strength. 

“Don’t look down,” he warned as he stepped over Tamerlan’s body. I buried my head into his chest as we moved down the hallway and turned right into the bathroom. He carefully placed me down on the rug and pulled a white terrycloth robe from a hook on the door. 

“Here.” He wrapped the robe around me. “Don’t worry – it’s mine. Not his.” 

“Jahar...” I lifted my head to kiss his lips. “Thank you for rescuing me. And yourself.” 

He placed his hand on my cheek. 

“You don’t have to thank me for doing what I needed to do.” 

“What...what about the body? We’ll have to clean things up before –“

“We can’t ‘clean things up.’ Not with a million cans of Comet.” He glanced toward the living room. “I’m going to have to call the cops.” 

“No!” I gripped his hands. “What will they think of you when they see you...like this?” 

“I will tell them the truth. I protected my woman from rape. Any man will understand.” 

“But...all this blood...” 

Jahar’s eyes widened. His mouth straightened. His chin rose up. He seemed to age a decade in seconds. 

“Blood on the sword of justice is not a crime.” 

* * *

“Cutting off the head. Nice Chechen touch, Kim.” 

“It’s not a Chechen thing, Paul. Well, not _just_ a Chechen thing...the LiveLeak video does exist.” 

Paul and Lilly looked at me as if my skin had turned plaid. 

“I didn’t watch it, I only looked at the description. I’m as thorough with my research as I need to be.” 

“I don’t like this Jahar,” said Lilly. “I understand why he killed, but did he have to be so...vicious?” 

“Yes. Metaphorically, was it any more vicious than what Tamerlan did to him?” 

* * *

EPILOGUE

The ocean’s eternal rhythm of rushing and ebbing was our soundtrack. The black of the nighttime sky, adorned with glittering stars and spun-silver clouds, was our canopy. The blue-and-green plaid flannel sleeping bag, soft as velvet after years of washing, was the shelter of our passion. 

The moon, full and bright white, gave Jahar’s untamed curls a shining halo as he threw back his head and let out a passionate scream. Inside of me, his penis burst with desire, releasing his river of sperm. 

I melted into the ground, dreamy with satisfaction. My hands slipped into the refreshingly cool sand. 

That gave me an idea. I carefully scooped up a handful of sand and slowly let it go on Jahar’s bare back. 

He giggled and brushed his lips against mine...then scooped up another handful of sand and poured it over my naked breasts. 

It was mid-August, and we had just fulfilled a long-time fantasy by making love on the beach at night. We did have a bedroom in the beach house we had rented with six other friends, but no one could deny it was more beautiful out here. 

Jahar and I had made a pact to enjoy beauty as often as we could this summer. We needed it to counteract the horror of the late spring. 

He did not face charges for the death of Tamerlan. Protecting his woman outweighed nearly anything, even a death by – 

_No. I won’t think about that out here._

Jahar met with a therapist for an hour every week, not only because of his brother’s death but for all that led up to it. We came to understand that healing was a journey, not a destination – and that it could take years, even decades. 

That didn’t mean we would think about trauma all the time. We consciously made a time and place for it (therapy, certain evenings at home). On vacation, on dates, making love to each other – that was when we kept that door closed and locked. 

“I’ll be damned if I’ll let _him_ destroy what we have, baby. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him stop me from making love to you – from getting excited about you, from feeling your heat around me, from coming so hard that I forget myself...from loving you and knowing you love me...” 

His determination – our determination – came into play a week before we came to the beach house. Jahar finally told his parents and sisters what Tamerlan had done to him. They didn’t believe him – and had stopped communicating with him altogether. 

He refused to feel guilty about that. 

If I could believe in a God, I would thank him/her/it that he had enough friends who stood up for him. And his therapist. 

And me. 

I fell in love with Jahar in part because of his lighthearted side. His silly tweets and playful texts and wicked wit pulled me out of my tendency to take myself (and life) too seriously. 

When he showed me the dark secret behind his smile, it only made me love him more. It took an unshakable moral core not to become a black hole of rage...or spit it back out into the world. 

He was stronger in the places where he had been broken...just as I was stronger in the places where I had supported him. 

We sat up, shaking the sand off our skin. He pulled up his boxers (which were nearly indistinguishable from swimwear). I put on a short orange cotton dress. We shook out the sleeping bag, rolled it up, and put on our flip-flops. 

“I feel like a nice, warm shower. Wanna join me, baby?” 

“Sure...but we might get hot and sweaty again in bed, you know.” 

“Who said anything about ‘might’?” 

The sounds of our laughter sweetened the air as Jahar walked back to the beach rental, one arm wrapped around the sleeping bag, the other wrapped around me. 

* * *

“That was a satisfying conclusion,” said Paul. “Justice is done, love conquers all...and nobody blows up a marathon.” 

“I can’t say I like a story with incest, rape, and beheading in it. But its heart was in the right place...and that is what matters.” 

“Thank you, Lilly. And Paul.” I made a small bow across the table. “As always, you’ve been a wonderful audience, which every writer needs.” 

On the drive home, I pondered “Blood on my sword.” I knew I would risk the rage of the Jahar-is-innocent-period fandom if I published it – especially the faction who widened that halo of innocence over Tamerlan as well. This was the same fandom who ate up my romantic stories like candy. 

Did I want to take that chance? 

Well... 

Publishing always came with risks. Not everyone would love what I wrote – and some people would despise it. 

_Oh, well. Even Dickens gets one-star reviews on Amazon._

_And if just one person reads this and understands that the rape was not his/her fault...well, that is worth the wrath of a thousand fangirls._

So I posted it.

And here it is.


End file.
